


The walls I hide behind, you just walk through

by eleanorknows



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: At the Reception, Bipolar Disorder, Boyfriends Being Sweet, Boys Wearing Suits, Comfort, Domestic, Dorks, Fluff, Future Fic, Getting Ready Together, Ian Wants to Dance, Living Together, M/M, Romance, To Attend a Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2213298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleanorknows/pseuds/eleanorknows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the future, Mickey and Ian live in a tiny studio apartment. It's the day of Fiona's wedding and they're boyfriends getting ready together in the bathroom. And okay, no chance in hell is Mickey doing any dancing at the reception so there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Starting a Day with You

**Author's Note:**

> So Fiona and Jimmy/Steve/Jack are getting married, I needed a wedding. Ha. This is set roughly three years after 4x12. I should say that I'm in no way informed about bipolar disorder and I've written to the best of my knowledge and with care so I hope it comes off that way. And lastly, there is a Downton Abby plot reference from season two so potential spoiler alert. 
> 
> *Main Title: lyrics from The XX - Our Song

It’s one of those days, Mickey can tell just by glancing out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t say anything, slipping his suit jacket on. Ian shuffles to their bathroom, slow unlike his usual wide strides that Mickey has to actively work his legs to keep up. Instead, the older man lets himself be extra annoyed at the confining feel of this monkey suit he’s forced to wear. At least it’s black, even if it’s too fitted sleek and not enough Reservoir Dogs for his general liking. But the dark sunglasses are a bonus, sends a real _I was ready to fuck shit up five minutes ago_ message so he pockets that just in case.

He takes a half-dozen steps and end up in the kitchen of their small studio apartment, hell yeah being broke and lazy is a plus in this case. Mickey instantly plops down on a stool and props his elbows on the counter, trying not to melt completely into a sweat puddle. It’s a hot-as-balls Saturday morning and heat has been rising since the early hours, reaching sauna-like proportions on their twelve floor. He definitely wants to kick Ian’s ass for convincing him on the top level just so they’d get a view of the sky on decent nights with stars and shit out on the balcony. What next after that, them owning a little yappy Chihuahua and carrying the stupid thing to the park for a picnic? No fucking way. Then Ian whispered into his ear what they’d being doing on said balcony in the middle of the night in the open air and fuuuck, it was like okay sign his name where?

Right now though, being buck-naked with a cold can of beer sounds pretty damn good. His eyes listlessly scan around and train onto the pill box labeled with the days of the week and Saturday’s still full. Most days are good but sometimes, Ian forgets. Sometimes, Ian’s doing so good it’s almost like he doesn’t need them. And sometimes, Ian just hates them so much and can’t imagine taking them ever again. So then the two of them adjust and work it out – after three years of this, nothing is impossible to navigate.

Today’s a forgot-about-it-bordering-on-bad-feels day, Mickey just knows intuitively. So he groans lethargically and goes into motion, pouring a glass of water and pocketing the pill box. Nudging the bathroom door with a free hand, he’s gentle enough to get it open slowly so Ian knows he’s headed in. Knocking is basically a foreign concept in their home nowadays and it’s even strange now that he’s not busting in but this required a bit more finesse.

It’s instantly humid and foggy the moment Mickey steps inside, condensation finally free to rush out the open door. Ian’s showered and mostly changed into a dark blue suit, probably just stopped at some point to sit on the edge of the bathtub and stare into space. Mickey kneels down in front of Ian, placing the glass of water on the title floor. His forearms crossing to rest on the younger man’s thighs and he smiles sweetly when slightly unfocused pupils meet his own.

“Hey,” the brunette says softly, feeling just as enamored as the first time he laid eyes on that face.

Ian offers a distracted grin, lowering his head so their foreheads touch, “Is it time to go?”

“Not yet, we still have some time,” Mickey replies, sticking his nose into the other’s cheek and inhaling the familiar scent before rubbing the tips of their noses together fondly, “You forget something?”

Ian tilts just enough to press their mouths together, resting there for a still second and pulling back with a noisy smack as their lips separate, his expression already a bit more animated than before, “Oh yeah, my pills. Can you do the tie for me then?”

“Okay, let’s trade,” Mickey hands over the pill box from his jacket pocket and grabs the tie in a heap on the bathtub’s edge.

Popping open the lid to the correct day, Ian lets the pills spill out onto his palm and watches them just lay limp. Mickey’s still on the floor, now sitting crisscrossed and struggling to pull off his jacket that’s too damn hot and fitted. A present from the groom for Fiona’s wedding so they’ll all look like douchebags, just another reason to hate rich people.

Ian’s laughter fills the room, eyes practically sparking with life again as he nudges his foot against his boyfriend’s thigh, “You need some help there, grandpa? Or can you hand me that cup of water by your leg?”

“Fuckin’ Jimmy Steve Jack-ass, what’s wrong with the clothes I already have? Milkoviches always have a funeral suit handy, kinda have to with the genius-level relatives and friends we have,” Mickey demands with raised eyebrows, giving up on taking off the jacket and handing over the cup instead.

“Mick, your funeral suit has dried blood and grass stains and that’s just the jacket! Not sure that fits in with their fairytale wedding,” Ian points out and pauses in contemplation, liking the thought of Fiona being happy, “He’s finally treating her like she deserves and she’s finally accepting that it’s okay, it's basically a miracle.”

Smoothening out the slight wrinkles in the tie against his thigh, the brunette rolls his eyes, “And why do the rest of us have to suffer? It’s middle of July, this doesn’t have any fucking breathing room for my junk!”

“Hey, at least you don’t have to wear a vest too,” Ian quips wryly as he pulls back his jacket to reveal the extra fabric, a navy blue all the Gallaghers are wearing somewhere on their clothes.

"Yeah, I like you in less layers too. The fewer, the better," Mickey adds with a perky grin, suddenly looking like a kid in a candy shop just eyeing the sweets to his contentment.

Ian gratuitously eyes the shorter man before downing the pills and chasing it with water, "You look handsome in those clothes.”

Mickey gets up from the ground with a smirk, wrapping the tie around the redhead’s neck, “You’re looking pretty damn good yourself. I like your ass in this one. I like your ass in everything.”

The lines of fatigue are still on Ian’s face as he radiates amusement, a reminder that he tossed and turned for much of the night. It wasn’t a good one, a complete drainer. But it’s also obvious Ian’s trying to push through and hold onto something concrete.

“We could just attend the ceremony and skip the rest. Doubt they’d even mind, we’d be there for the important part. Reception’s just for getting shit-faced anyways,” Mickey suggests with a shrug, aiming to come off slothful instead of worried.

“No way, I want a dance with the bride! And Debbie, I promised her I would,” Ian’s voice has a renewed sense of presence and purpose, “And Mandy, we always do at least once.”

“You plannin’ on dancing all night, Eliza Doolittle?” Mickey raises an eyebrow and grins.

“Yeah, with my boyfriend who always refuse to but I think tonight’s the night,” Ian teases but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes all the way, like there’s an impasse and some of the good feelings are stuck inside.

“Right, well forecasts says chances of that are low to fucking never,” Mickey retorts and presses a kiss to the younger man’s lips to wipe the idea from mind and existence.

“How about when we’re eighty then? We’ll be wrinkly and basically unrecognizable, no one gives a shit what old people do," Ian’s deadpan sarcasm grounds him closer to his normal self, engaging in conversation helps, "Old Lenny’s always walking around the neighborhood naked, he says it’s very freeing.”

So Mickey chitchats, “Glad we’re taking advice from Naked Lenny, that’s real comforting. Who next? Crazy Campbell Soup Sue from down the street? She’ll read your future and suck your dick for a little bit of smack.”

Ian nods as if really considering it, replies winningly, “Sounds reasonable, babe.”

“Of course it is,” Mickey laughs, “Okay almost done with the tie, I’m Bates-ing the shit out of this. Oh you hear about Iggy and Lazy-Eye Janice, the herpes they gave each other and half the shitty neighborhood? No fucking clue who gave it to who but I’m betting on both and together they created like a super bug out to take over the Southside. It’s a goddamn monster movie!”

“Classing up the place one fuck at a time!” Ian adds sardonically and overflowing with affection, the older man’s being a chatterbox for his benefit and it warms his heart like a hug that won’t let go for the rest of the day, “You know, it’s adorable that you’re binge-watching Downton Abby.”

“It’s fucking Mandy making me while we watch Yevgeny,” Mickey offers up all half-assed.

The redhead cocks his head and grins lopsidedly; they both know she's lost interest a ways back and really only indulging her brother's obsession, “You sure about that?”

Done with the tie, Mickey frowns in all seriousness, “Fine fine but last we stopped it ended with Bates in prison and separated from Anna, they don’t know if they’ll ever be together again. He’s just waiting to be hanged and it’s fucking messed-up. This is serious shit, Gallagher!”

Purposefully giving distracted nods and pretending not to listen just to piss off Mickey, Ian runs his fingers through the brunette's hair and traces his thumb gently across a pale temple. That assuages the older man immediately, eyes softening and expression openly devoted. Ian's hand ends up resting against the side of Mickey's face, already knowing each individual line and curve like etches in memory. 

Ian kisses the man before him, so much more layered and beautiful than most of the world even knows, “Mick, I love you so fucking much.”

Lucky for them they don’t need the world, just each other.

“I love you too,” Mickey replies tenderly like it’s second-nature, like it always has been.

They intertwine fingers and lean against each other, lingering so Ian can catch up with the day.

 


	2. Ending the Night with You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this didn't turn out exactly like I intended, which is a little frustrating because I swear I had this distinct image starting out and it sort of fluttered away. I'll call it a very mixed bag, ha. 
> 
> Warnings: There is one line that skews towards "mature" but overall I don't think the piece is such. Excessive swearing as can be typical of the characters.

The space is ridiculous. Like a fucking view by the water and modern glass walls draped with sheer fabric and giant crystal chandeliers, real hoity-toity shit. Ian grabs their place cards, obviously exasperated by the lack of help while Mickey eyes everything with an opportunistic gleam. His mind already starting to calculate how much he’d be able to fence for all these goodies 'cause really once the reception ends, isn’t it “technically” a free-for-all?

Ian elbows him back into reality, leaning in to his ear to murmur, “No, you’re not so forget about it, smooth criminal.”

“That clock thing was one time, asshole!” Mickey starts up with a touchy-feely shove and raised eyebrows, being shot in the ass is pretty hard to forget besides another oh-so-specific moment of first kisses, “I’m more professional than that, it’s your sister’s wedding! Unless…”

The way Ian starts rolling his eyes is already the answer, but he also grabs onto the brunette’s suit lapels so their faces are close enough to whisper with a disarmingly handsome grin, “No chance in hell, Mick.”

“Killjoy,” Mickey proclaims as he places his own hands over his boyfriend’s and give it a fond squeeze, “This is why we’re gonna stay broke and in our tiny-ass apartment forever.”

“I love our tiny-ass apartment and so do you,” Ian points out obviously and pulls them by interlaced fingers further into the expansive space, navigating to their assigned table with the rest of the family.

Grunting in begrudged agreement, Mickey slips into a chair and places their entwined hands on his thigh. He likes the way they just fit and especially Ian’s all-encompassing grip with his long, slender fingers. Bringing his other hand on top, the brunette runs a thumb pad along the ridge of every knuckle just back and forth like collecting sense memory for safekeeping. A remnant of an old habit from childhood, hoarding good memories to survive through all the bad ones.

Ian rubs his eyes with the back of his free wrist and blinks a few times sluggishly, looking both relieved and overwrought to be sitting down. It’s been a bitch of a day that already started slow, Mickey knows it’s wearing down on Ian in bits and pieces. He hooks his foot with the redhead’s so their ankles touch and that earns him an exuberant smile as they continue chatting. The rest of the table fills up and it’s instantly a madhouse of overlapping shouting and teasing and rambunctious laughter that’s just general noise pollution. So the usual. When the bride and groom make their entrance, the crowd goes apeshit and he gladly opens the liquor bottle on the table.

But damn if he isn't secretly excited for his prime porterhouse steak, been mentally preparing for this shit since checking it off on the RSVP card. According to stick-up-their-asses critics, this place makes the best which he only knows because Ian yammered on and on about it as a way to (not so subtly) convince him to go and of course he was a total pushover. Saying no to Ian is scientifically, mathematically, humanly impossible. Plus he doesn't have to be a fucking connoisseur to know the basics of economics; rich meat is better than poor meat.

The server places the plate down, lifting the cover off. Across the table, Mickey makes eye contact with Carl and they share shit-eating grins as they dig in. Ian's still chattering away with Lip, not even sparing a glance at the salmon filet in front of him and of course Mickey notices. Sometimes the redhead forgets to eat and take care of himself even though he always does it for others, being exhausted and strained makes it even worse. So he hangs his arm on the back of Ian’s chair, leaning in closely and grabbing a piece of fish with his fork.

Ian’s attention shifts back to him with an amused gaze, feeling like he gets the gist of the situation immediately, “That number one steak of America disappoint you, babe?”

“It’s alright,” Mickey says with a noncommittal shrug, then putting on a laidback grin, “I have some of yours, you have some of mine.”

“Okay deal,” Ian answers with affection, thrilled to share anything between the two of them as he starts cutting up his food, “Does this trade include a dance too?”

“In your fucking dreams, dear,” Mickey replies sweetly with a sardonic smile that gets a laugh, sticking his fork into a piece of cut-up steak and bringing it up to the redhead’s mouth, “Try this one.”

A few experimental chews quickly turns to actual eating and swallowing, Ian’s eyes lighting up, “This is fucking amazing!”

“Yeah, it’s decent. I’m kinda sick of it,” Mickey comments nonchalantly, inwardly relieved and gratified as the younger man eagerly stuffs himself with more steak.

Together, they finish off both entrées in no time and Mickey smacks his lips contently, sighing with satisfaction as Ian reaches over with his fingers and wipes sauce off the corners of the older man's mouth. Attention goes to the front of the room as Fiona and Jimmy-Steve-Jack (Ian prefers the full version, therefore so does Mickey) starts cutting the cake and everyone cheers them on. Mickey's focus stays singular, catching the main activity out of the corner of his eye and watching the redhead instead. His boyfriend looks beautifully happy, eyelashes fluttering and cheeks tinted a slight rosy color from the warm heat. And that wide, genuine smile that when directed at him always hits so hard like there’s nothing bad or evil in the whole of existence.

The server clears off the empty plates and replaces them with slices of cake.

“I get half of your cake,” Mickey claims casually, typical of their growing lack of boundaries and already taking a bite before adding, “You don’t like sweets much anyways.”

Ian nudges his side and pats his knee, grinning mischievously, “I’m willing to negotiate.”

“I’m sure you are,” Mickey smirks as the younger man’s palm starts rubbing his thigh, licking the frosting off of his fork, “Like where this is going, am I gonna like how it ends?”

“Happy ending guaranteed,” Ian leans in and voices intimately, drumming his fingers to the music that starts up for the wedding couple’s first dance.

The room dims considerably to highlight the dance floor and everyone claps. Mickey feels Ian’s nose against his neck and then a butterfly kiss that quirks into a smile on his skin. Ian’s hair still smells like their shampoo from the shower this morning, it reminds him they share a home because sometimes he still can't believe it himself. He nuzzles in and rests his chin against the redhead’s temple, feeling the second tender touch of lips before Ian pulls away.

Mickey barely holds in a petulant whine as the younger man refocuses back on the main event, then he remembers they’re in public and quickly glances around accessing the possible damage. No one’s looking, no one’s judging, no one even fucking cares. This still baffles and scares him if he’d care to admit, it’s like freefalling and not knowing if there’s even a parachute to save him in the end. So he holds onto Ian’s hand tighter because letting go seems even scarier.

And he eats his way through his cake and half of Ian’s, already annoyed by the lame-ass cheesy love song playing. Once the first dance is over, the floor floods with hoards of people as some upbeat pop shit starts up and Ian gives his hand a squeeze before going off with basically the whole table to surround the bride and groom. Mickey just enjoys the view and feels proud, watching the way the redhead belongs together with all of his family and friends like a protective cocoon. He gets this weird feeling in his stomach like he’s ungrounded and falling. Is it even possible to miss someone who’s only fifteen feet away?

As the night goes on, he’s on his third beer and casually conversing with random Gallaghers and Balls that come and go. Ian does exactly what he promised, dancing with all his girls and looking fucking radiant. Like a moth to light, Mickey wants to get closer and be part of that illuminating warmth. He always feel that way, lost and then found the day Ian came into his life. And to be happy, to be free, and to be loved - these are actual achievable things, not just fairytale bullshit.

The current fast song is coming to an end and transiting to a slow one, Mickey cracks his knuckles individually and listen to their almost hypnotic sounds. Now or fucking never, asshole. His chair scraps again the hardwood as he pushes back and gets up, brushing any stray crumbs off his lap and exhaling deeply. The walk across the floor is surreal as he passes all the other couples with each click of his stiff dress shoes. Coming to a stop is even more nerve-racking. But this is Ian, just the familiar sight alone calms him down enough to continue.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets and clears his throat loudly before speaking with raised eyebrows, “Hey, uh, can I cut in?”

“You wanna dance with Mandy?” Ian asks with almost child-like confusion, arms still around her waist.

Mandy rolls her eyes and smirks wickedly at her brother, patting her best friend on the chest before stepping out of his arms, “Assface isn’t asking for me, stupid.”

Literally speechless, Ian watches Mandy disappear into the crowd and stares at his boyfriend fidgeting like he’s nervous and unsure of himself.

“We gonna do this shit or what?” Mickey questions with excessive gruffness as he pulls his hands out of his pockets so they dangle by his sides, “Before my buzz wears off.”

But really, this is him being tender and vulnerable and the redhead sees though that hard outer shell like finding the right angle to stand that makes a trick so apparent. Ian closes in the space between them and encircle his arms around the older man’s waist. Immediately Mickey is hesitant as he glances around their surroundings out of habit, readying for the adrenaline rush of something bad that doesn’t happen.

“You’re okay,” Ian, whispers like magic words that makes everything better as he leads and they start swaying steps to the music, “You’re amazing, Mick.”

That impulsive feeling to flee, Mickey pushes it back down and looks into those familiar, loving eyes enclosing him with tenderness. His hands rest comfortably on the redhead’s upper arms, latching on as their foreheads rest again each other's and their feet continue to shuffle relaxed steps.

“Yeah I can’t believe we’re doing this gay shit either,” Mickey feels the smile blooming on his face at its own volition as the younger man holds him closer, “You promised a happy ending, don’t forget that when we get home tonight.”

Ian chuckles lowly and moves his mouth right by the brunette’s ear, “Oh I’m gonna fuck you so hard against our balcony fence tonight, you’ll be seeing stars even with your eyelids closed.”

“You’re such a fucking tease,” Mickey complains almost forlornly, his arms switching to wrapping themselves around a taut waist underneath the redhead’s jacket to feel closer, “The drive alone is gonna end me, forty-five minutes of wasted opportunity. It’s a damn shame.”

“Can’t wait to sit out and watch the stars with me?” Ian teases softly as he runs a hand up the nape of the older man’s neck and into a mop of dark brown hair.

He rests the side of his face against Ian’s collarbone and answers without thinking, “Can’t wait to do everything with you.”

“Me too,” Ian replies sincerely and places a kiss against the brunette’s temple before murmuring, “Thank you for today.”

“Anything for your stupid, hot ass,” Mickey answers vibrantly and hums along because this song has been playing fucking everywhere, lulled into the swaying and the stupid music and the nice chill of intoxication.

Ian beams in that special, bright way that’s like fresh grass on a summer day all earnest and familiar, his voice playful and eager, “Are we doing this all the time now? It’s already the second song you know, I think you like dancing, Mickey.”

“Hell no, that ain't happening! But with you, this ain’t half bad,” Mickey acquiesces and then lazily adds, “You planning on some more weddings in the future?”

“I don’t know, maybe one day, ours,” Ian suggests off-handedly and then quickly clarifies more anxiously, "Not now obviously but like someday in the future when we're older and it's a good time and-"

"Okay," Mickey cuts in suddenly and pulls his head back so they can look into each other's eyes, knowing right then and there he's made the easiest decision of his life, "I'm in for that, of course eventually gotta get the divorce papers and shit all finalized since Svetlana doesn’t even need me for citizenship ‘cause of Yevgeny and-"

"Really? Really, really?!" Ian lets out in an excited breath and forgoing dancing completely, cradling the older man's face with his slender fingers and kissing those lips repeatedly.

"Alright, alright, Ian! Yes, down the fucking line when we’re ready!" Mickey laughs happily between the smooches, peering briefly around afterwards and noticing a few eyes on them. He couldn't care less and that's surprising even to him.

Ian places his palms against the brunette’s chest, stating with soft elation, “I love you and you love me too."

“It’s more than just a piece of paper to you,” Mickey explains and then pauses with a fond grin, “So it means something to me too.”

As usual, Ian doesn't even realize there's anyone else besides the two of them and Mickey gladly joins that world. They kiss slowly, feeling the familiar curves and dips of each other’s mouths and completely freed by their love. The song switches back to a fast beat again as the floor floods with rowdy dancers and they don’t even give a damn. When their lips separate, Mickey touches their noses and moves in again for a resounding chaste kiss. Ian nestles his face into the older man’s neck and when he pulls back, his eyes have a wet glisten. The significance of being able to plan a future together starting to sink in, Mickey feels the back of his own eyes burning too.

“We’re here, we’re actually here,” Ian utters almost disbelievingly, face shining with joy.

Mickey looks back full of wonder and love like they’ve encapsulated every single cell in his body, like they’re giving him life, “It’s going to be that way forever, you and me.”

“You and me,” Ian repeats whole-heartedly, rubbing at tired pupils.

“You ready to go home?” Mickey asks gently, glancing at the clock on the wall marking twelve forty-five and noticing the sparser crowd.

Ian nods just as the music switches to a sappy slow song, staring irresistibly at his boyfriend, “How about after this last one?”

Mickey's arms wrap tightly around the redhead’s midriff and he attaches himself completely, “Fine, but you can move us if you want ‘cause I’m staying this way. I’ve reach my fucking movement quota like eight hours ago.”

“You’re literally a lump, my fucking lazy lump,” Ian muses and returns the embrace, swaying them in slow steps like they’ve got all the time in the world.

"Yeah," Mickey mutters leisurely into his boyfriend's chest, "well, get used to it."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very important thing I should explain: I am absolutely not ignoring your comments if you have left any on my previous and will in my future works. With my writing, I get can terribly anxious and self-conscious so I kind of have to work myself towards reading and responding to them (...it takes quite a while and I really hate that) but it really does mean a tremendous lot to me. Seriously, I appreciate comments and kudos SO MUCH. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
> 
> Fyi for anyone who wants to know: a truly multi-chaptered story (hopefully) coming soon, I'm excited for this one!


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